


XXX

by abluevixen (knightofbows)



Series: | January 2016 Prompt Challenge | [25]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, M/M, straight edge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightofbows/pseuds/abluevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wears Xs on his hands, and Derek wants to know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	XXX

Derek noticed the guy before he noticed the mark. Frankly, it was hard not to notice the guy—he was outspoken, enthusiastic, practically vibrating with energy. His dark eyes burned bright, lit with the fire of his every argument, because every word tumbling from his plush, kissable mouth was combative and passionate; and his face would flush unevenly when his blood pounded, a feat that required little energy on Derek’s part.

He never did understand what there was to argue about in formal logic—it was practically mathematics with how formulaic it was, and once the system’s functions were clear, high marks became easy to achieve—but Derek enjoyed inciting the guy’s anger. He’d bite his lip in brief pauses or while Derek spoke, and he’d snarl while he jotted down what Derek assumed was a flow chart in his notebook. Then he’d smirk, pleased and smug, when he punched holes in Derek’s arguments. How Derek _let him_ was Derek’s secret.

Derek thought he had the guy pegged fairly accurately. He wore tight pants that left little to the imagination in muted, earthy tones, the brightest of which were rust red. Derek loved those. His shirts were fitted and typically plain colors that only ever contrasted with his pants, and his shoes were a beaten pair of Converse. Sometimes his bangs tufted out from a beanie he wore. Other times, it was styled meticulously. Sometimes he wore glasses, sometimes he didn’t. Derek couldn’t tell if he needed them or if they were some sort of fashion statement. Tattoos snaked out from the rolled up sleeves of collared shirts or sweaters, and if the material of a shirt was thin or light enough, Derek could see the silhouettes of more art across his ribs, shoulder blades and collar bones.

Sometimes, if the air conditioner kicked on just the right way, Derek scented stale alcohol and cigarette smoke on him. Sometimes weed, sometimes sex, from both men and women. Mostly Derek scented the guy’s body wash and cologne, his natural scent somewhere beneath it all. And he smelled _delicious_.

But then he noticed the mark on the back of his hand. A faded X scrubbed ruthlessly until the delicate skin remained pink long after a shower. The guy had his faced propped against the heel of his palm during the assigned practice equations. Derek was too busy staring to bother with his work.

The guy must have felt his gaze, because he looked over with arched eyebrows and a question in his pout.

Derek just shook his head and stared at his half-completed logic set.

After class, the guy cornered him in the rush of dismissed students.

“What’s your deal?” he asked, combative as always.

“Nothing,” Derek said, quickly. His wolf wanted to bare teeth and belly simultaneously, and it confused Derek. He glanced to the guy’s hand, and seeing the glance, the guy twisted his grip on his bag and hid the faded mark from view.

“I might not be able to hear it in your heartbeat, but I know you’re lying,” the guy said, but he sounded more amused than angry.

Derek sighed and rolled his eyes. If he’d learned anything about having class with this guy, it was that his tenacity was endless. When he imagined somehow striking up a conversation with him, Derek hadn’t imagined it an interrogation. “Your hand. I was curious, is all.”

“The X?”

“Yeah.”

“I went to a show last night. Couldn’t get it off before class.”

Derek frowned, disappointed in the anticlimactic explanation. “What kind of show?”

“A band down at The Social.”

With a nod of understanding, Derek didn’t need to really inquire further. The Social was a popular indie club downtown that featured eclectic bands and a hell of a bar. He’d seen posters pinned on event boards around campus.

“Ever been?” the guy asked, and suddenly he was making conversation while Derek followed him out of the classroom.

They were having a conversation.

“No,” he said, though he rubbed the back of his hand in sympathy for his classmate. “And now that I’ve seen your hand, I might not bother.”

The guy laughed, light and with his whole body. “No, dude, they didn’t mark me. I marked myself.”

Derek furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“I’m straight edge,” he explained. “It makes it easier for me enjoy a show when people can just tell, ya know?”

Derek didn’t know. He didn’t know at all, but standing closer to the guy, he could smell the permanent marker still marring his otherwise beautiful skin.

He chuckled, quieter this time, and Derek had never had another person look at him the way this guy was looking at him. It made his wolf whine. “Look, I get it. It’s weird, especially in college, but it’s just a thing, okay? It’s my thing. And I don’t...” He sighed and scratched the back of his neck, averting his gaze.

“Are you going back to The Social this week?”

“Yeah,” he said, though he sounded dejected. “Yeah, there’s this little indie band I’m kind of obsessed with and—”

“Maybe I could go with you? Check the place out, see what it’s like.”

“You don’t even know my name,” the guy teased, smirking.

“Well, I’m Derek,” Derek offered. “So we’re already halfway through the name exchange.”

Grinning, the guy introduced himself as Stiles and wrote his phone number on the back of Derek’s hand with the gentle glide of a ballpoint pen. “It’ll wash off,” Stiles said, after telling Derek to text him. Then he was gone, jogging off down the hall to a class he was already late for.

That night, Derek researched _Straight Edge_.

No drinking, no smoking, no drugs.

Fair enough, Derek thought. Though, he’d smelled those things on Stiles before in class. Maybe from the bar, or the people Stiles spent time around.

Sometimes it included a vegetarian or vegan diet, and an abstinence from sex.

And, well, that disappointed Derek. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to spread Stiles out on a bed and have his way with him, trace every line of his inked skin with the tip of his tongue until Derek could taste him from memory alone. Not only did Derek want Stiles, but _Derek’s wolf_ wanted Stiles, too; and maybe the animal sensed something Derek couldn’t about him. Besides, he’d smelled sex on Stiles, too—lube and latex and the distinct scent of cum.

The night of the show, Derek met Stiles outside of The Social. It was chilly, and Stiles blew into his cupped hands to warm them. Derek saw the black Xs on each of Stiles’ hands. As much as Derek wanted to wrap an arm around him or offer his jacket, he didn’t really know or understand what _Straight Edge_ meant to Stiles. Every instinct drove him to do whatever it took to keep Stiles around, not chase him off, so Derek kept to himself.

“Are you sure about this?” Stiles asked. “It’s a tiny place, super intimate. It might be overwhelming for you.”

“I should be fine,” Derek assured him. “Let’s head in. It’s cold.”

And, well, the club was overwhelming—Stiles wasn’t wrong. Derek spent the majority of the show packed tight against other people in the tiny brick-and-mortar venue, and the only thing that calmed his wolf’s anxiety was Stiles’ steady scent beside him. They were pressed side-by-side near the bar, so Stiles had a seat and didn’t have to fight to see the band’s performance. Over the noxious cloud of drugs-smoke-booze-sweat, Derek picked out Stiles’ happiness and focused on it. Over the bass rattling his ribcage and screaming and chanting, Derek heard Stiles sing every lyric of every song.

He considered ordering a few wolfsbane laced drinks to ease his nerves, but the Xs on the backs of Stiles’ hands stopped him.

When some rude patron shoved Stiles off his seat, Derek easily caught him and helped him into his lap. “This okay?” he asked, pressing his words against the back of Stiles’ ear so he could hear him with his human senses.

“Best seat in the house,” Stiles laughed.

The show’s end brought with it a ringing silence where Derek didn’t trust the volume of his voice. He followed Stiles to where the band sold merchandise, and used Stiles’ phone to help snap a few photos.

“Get over here, Sourwolf,” Stiles called, and that’s how Derek wound up a few of the selfies Stiles snapped with his long arms and nimble fingers.

Outside, Derek breathed deep to clear his sinuses and lungs; and walked Stiles to his car, an ancient baby blue Jeep parked in a nearby garage.

“Thanks for coming out,” Stiles said. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling, and neither could Derek. “My buddy Scott hates these sorts of things, so I usually go alone.”

“Then he’s missing out,” Derek said. “It was a neat experience.”

Stiles chuckled, then stopped at the back of his Jeep. “I mean it, Derek. Normally, when people find out I’m straight edge…” He bit his lip, and stared off somewhere just above Derek’s shoulder.

“It’s your choice,” Derek said. “It’s okay.”

“People think it’s stupid, or that, like, how I label it or describe it is stupid. But do you have any idea how exhausting it is to tell people ‘no’ over and over again for every new thing they offer me? No one’s ever rude, really, but it’s just _tiring_. I just wanted to listen to good music and be around fun people, ya know?”

Derek smiled, smitten. “I can see that.”

“You’re the first person who hasn’t questioned me, or, like, interrogated me about it. Is it weird that I really want to kiss you for that?”

“I’d prefer you want to kiss me for other reasons, but I’ll take what I can get,” Derek answered, half-honestly.

“God, you’re such a dick,” Stiles said, but lacked heat. And suddenly Stiles was kissing him, plush mouth smiling against his before kissing him properly. His X’d hands slid up Derek’s neck to tangle in his hair, and he pressed flush against him when Derek kissed back with just as much heat.

“I didn’t know if you included sex in your abstinence,” Derek breathed against Stiles’ lips. “I didn’t want to push you.”

“Just drinking, drugs, and smoking,” Stiles said. “I’m totally down for sex.”

“Mine or yours?” Derek asked. He pressed his nose beneath Stiles’ jaw and was rewarded with a burst of tangy-sweet lust. “Or am I being too presumptuous?”

“I’m just a few blocks from here,” Stiles gasped, tilting his head back for Derek’s hungry kisses and nips.

They got in the Jeep, but they didn’t leave the garage before tumbling into the backseat.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on tumblr: [foxtricks](http://foxtricks.tumblr.com/)


End file.
